


A Stitch

by twoofdiamonds



Category: Original Work
Genre: Chicago (City), Detective Noir, F/M, Gen, Time Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:34:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22799383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoofdiamonds/pseuds/twoofdiamonds





	A Stitch

It was Murphy’s luck, or at least that’s what I thought at the time. John Law turned up on cue and I was making my exit, tipping a wink at the sergeant, when one of Buddy’s associates, one of the dumber ones with a death wish, got hold of a tommy gun and started spraying all over the place. I hit the deck like everyone else on Addison, but not before a stray took me in the side.

Lucky for me it was only a graze. You couldn’t even see the blood once I put my coat over it, and I laughed as I strolled past Buddy’s gang getting nice sets of bracelets fitted. If ever a bunch of crooks deserved it, they did.

I’d planned to fix the gash myself; I have an old first aid kit in the back of a cupboard somewhere, but I when I got to Mercy Hospital I figured what the hell. I didn’t have any other place to be and it was as nice an afternoon as any for a visit to the emergency room. And there was still that roll of sawbucks in my pocket for the tip-off – a job well done. I’d call it a treat, I decided, and get sewn together by a genuine medic for once.

I made it as far as the big glass doors and this blonde comes stumbling out onto the street, I kid you not, right into my arms.

“Well hello,” I said, catching the lady and setting her right.

Most broads get embarrassed by that kind of thing, so I was expecting a giggle, or maybe an apology, but she was looking around all wild-eyed and desperate, like the devil was on her tail.

I said something, something to reassure – _easy there_ , or _calm down_ maybe – I don’t recall. Anyway, then she focused on me and I had her full attention. Big blue peepers she had, my favorite kind. “I need to get out of here,” she said, all earnest. “Please, can you help me?”

Well I didn’t have to be asked twice, and that’s all I’m saying. I took her arm, old fashioned like, and we set off waking down East 25th, but I got the feeling she’d picked the direction at random.

She was wearing a good quality ladies’ perfume; I could tell, it’s a skill you pick up sharpish in my line of work, and besides, it wasn’t rocket science to figure out that this dame had means. She was no spring chicken, but then neither am I, and she was still a looker. I noted the pricey purse and the little pearl studs in her ears. The perfume hadn’t been sprayed recently, it was lingering in her clothes, or in the wool of her heavy camel coat. Hell, it could have been oozing from her pores for all I knew. Her shoes were flat though, and I remember thinking it was a pity; a pair of heels would have set off her supple calves something glorious.

A meat wagon blew by, siren blaring, and it made her flinch. She pressed her arm against mine, digging into my wound but she wasn’t to know, and if a man can’t bear a little discomfort then he’s nothing more than a boy in a hat. Besides, I figured I wasn’t in danger of bleeding out or nothing just yet.

She had her head down like heading into a gale, although it was calm, and picked up the pace until we were almost running.

“Where we headed exactly?” I asked.

“I must be dreaming,” is all she said, more to herself than me, so I made her stop and got a cute red-lipped pout for my trouble.

“Listen sweetcheeks,” I said to her, “There’s nothing down this way except the bridge, and a nice lady like you has no business walking around down there.” She sniffed and patted her hairdo but she was listening so I went on. “Now if you could just tell me what’s got you so flustered – did you check out early, is that it? Worried Sister’s going to send out the goons to catch you and re-admit you?” _Or possibly re-commit you,_ I added in the private of my own mind.

She snorted. “I wasn’t a patient.”

“Visiting then?” I thought maybe she was mixed up in some trouble and if so she’d been lucky to find me; I’m no boaster but I have some connections and an inclination towards helping the occasional broad in difficulties, especially the lookers.

“No, no.” She flapped a gloved hand at me, glancing back the way we’d come. So she was worried about a tail. We linked again and carried on walking, slower this time so we could talk. “I… work at the hospital,” she volunteered.

“You’re a nurse?” I said. She seemed a bit uptown for nursing to me, but then hospitals have never been one of my specialist areas, and long may it stay that way, amen.

“I’m a _doctor_ ,” she said, “Or at least I was,” and she fished out a hospital ID from her croc-skin purse. I read it and took a step back to look her over again, more careful this time. She pursed her lips.

“First lady sawbones I ever met,” I observed, handing the ID back.

“I’m not exactly…” she began, and then clammed up. “I need to get here, to this address.” She was choosing her words carefully now. She handed me a paper from her purse, addressed to her, assuming she was really the rightful owner of the ID. Who didn’t know their own home address and how to get there?

“That’s a nice neighborhood,” I said, “Real sweet. You want me to see you home safe? It’s no trouble, I was just shootin’ the breeze anyways.”

I’m not one of those guys who claims to know everything about women but I’ve been a few times round the block, and I know how a broad looks when she doesn’t want to need you, but needs you all the same. “I’m Boyle by the way,” I said, sticking out a hand, mostly to see if I couldn’t wipe that expression from her face. We shook. “Casey Boyle. Don’t know where I left my manners.”

“Lorna. This is going to sound like a strange question Mr Boyle but-”

“Casey, please.”

“-Casey then. Do they have the streetcars yet?”

And sure, it was a strange question, but most of what the job throws my way is strange and it was a fine day for strange. Strange is kind of my realm. “Yeah, sure they do. You want to jump on a trolley at the corner of La Salle?”

“Sure, yes. Let’s do that.”

I made the decision then not to pry. Women have their ways and maybe she had her reasons. At the trolley stop she dug a dollar bill out of her purse, inspected it and held it out. “Nineteen twenty-four,” she said, kind of shaky, and did that funny laugh-choke thing women sometimes do when they’re in danger of getting weepy.

I took the bill, since she was still holding it out at me, and confirmed the date. There was nothing special about it as far as I could see. Been in circulation a few years and Kosher enough; I know sourdough from the genuine article. “Now why don’t you put this away,” I told her, handing the note back. “It ain’t the nicest neighborhood to be flashing greens and anyways, I got this.” I paid for the two of us to ride the trolley to the ‘burbs and didn’t mind paying her fare. There’s no sense in a guy having a pocket full of dead presidents if he can’t spend it on a pretty lady.

The trolley rattled its erratic journey out of the city and Lorna began to relax. She stopped wringing her hands, and I couldn’t see it because of her gloves, but I imagined the gold wedding band that I was sure she was wearing.

Streets widened into avenues with leaves in all the sunset colors, sunlight dancing through the branches and throwing patterns over us passengers. It transformed us, the sunlight, from a motley crew of city dwellers to something vibrant and alive. 

“Do you ever feel like you’re in the wrong story?” Lorna said. “Like you’re not where you’re supposed to be; like you’ve been dropped in the deep-end, in someone else’s place?”

I sensed that this was a delicate moment; something she didn’t need to share but she’d put it out there anyway. I knew the answer instantly, but gave it it’s due consideration. “I’ve always felt that I’m right where I belong,” I answered honestly. “I mean, don’t get me wrong: sometimes this city’s a howling she-cat. And sometimes, in my line of work, a guy can get lonely. But that’s just the way it is. I never gave it much thought before.”

She nodded and watched a couple of rosy-cheeked kids go by, their skipping ropes blurred in motion. It was already a nice neighborhood, getting nicer every stop. I wondered what her husband did for a living. She didn’t ask about my profession. “Is it far from here?” she asked suddenly, twisting around in her seat and jarring my own arm into my side. I couldn’t hide the wince this time but she did her red-lipped pout again, and that was fair payoff in my books.

“Twenty minutes on foot from here,” I said. “Nice day for a walk.”

She grinned at me and I followed her off the trolley car wondering about her roots. It rattled away down the tracks and we watched it go.

Lorna’s accent was uptown, sure, but maybe she had started out a regular girl once; someone’s Jane from next door. And good for her if she’d made it in this world of swines. But the city blues follow me wherever I go, seeping in even at the happiest moments, and my mind whispered that maybe something had snapped in her now. Maybe her peace of mind had been the price for making it to the big time.

“Were you going to show me the injury in your side, or were you just planning on bleeding out?”

Well hell. “It’s just a scratch…” I began to say, but she was already pushing my overcoat out of the way and hissing through her teeth at the blood.

“Let me be the judge of that, alright?”

We moved away from the street, into the shade of a sweet chestnut and she set about her professional examination. It was a relief to get out of my heavy overcoat and I hoped I didn’t smell too bad for the day’s sweat. We had the neighborhood to ourselves at least, aside from the hum of bees in some Michaelmas daisies. “So what’s the verdict, doc?” I said.

To my surprise she produced a hip flask from her purse. “This might sting a bit,” she warned, and poured something clear, not bourbon, vodka or gin maybe, over the bit of me that was missing skin. It stung like a bitch but I took it on the chin. “Take off your tie,” she said, mopping up the excess with a pretty lace handkerchief and producing another, plainer one from her purse of wonders.

“What else you got in there?” I said, and she gave me this smouldering look.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

She had a rare bedside manner about her, so much gentler than your average croaker. Her touch was soft on account of her being a woman, but she was confident in her work and I found that I didn’t doubt her abilities.

“That’ll have to do for now,” she said, wrinkling her pretty nose at the blood on my vest as she pulled it down. “You’ll live. Of course, you should be getting stitched up at the hospital but I suppose that’s where you were going when I accosted you.”

“Lorna, you can accost me anytime sweetheart,” I said, and gave her my best smile. She wasn’t impressed, but Dames like her never are.

We switched sides to save her work and set off walking again. I tried to see her out of the corner of my eye, and judge if she knew where we were or which way to turn. “Stop that,” she said eventually. “I know how it seems but I’m not crazy, I swear.”

“Didn’t cross my mind,” I lied. “Just one more street. Darlington. Right over there.”

She didn’t say _‘I know’_ or _‘Don’t patronize me’_ or anything else to indicate she knew where she was. I figured she likely had some kind of memory problem and, if that was it, she shouldn’t be out alone; this city just ain’t safe, even for those of us who are cursed with memories.

She stopped us on the corner of her street. “Casey,” she said, and I swallowed, feeling like a bowling ball got stuck in my gullet.” The sun made her hard to look at. I was sweating again in my heavy coat, or maybe bleeding. I could feel it trickling down my sides. “Do you believe in Heaven?”

“Sure,” I said neutrally, watching her carefully for a reaction but she seemed genuinely interested in my answer, so I elaborated. “I mean, I’m not sure about the Almighty, but I don’t see no point in betting against him is what I’m saying.”

She nodded solemnly and took hold of my forearms. I trembled a little at her touch. “And, if there _were_ a Heaven then it stands to reason it would be different for each one of us?”

“Well yeah, I guess. One man’s meat is another’s poison and all that jazz.” I wasn’t sure where she was going with this, and I found I was enjoying the experience for its unpredictability. There’s too much that’s monochrome and monotonous in this life.

“And if you could choose your kind of paradise – your own personal paradise – where would you want to go?”

 _Give me the answer I need to hear,_ her eyes seemed to say, bluer than robins’ eggs. I felt giddy, but also that I wanted to stay in that moment, in the fall sunshine on the corner of Darlington and Acacia with Lorna, crazy and beautiful by turns.

From time to time I’d had hairbrained ideas about traveling: Florida, LA, Hawaii even. I’d imagined some vague retirement; a pretty doll on each arm, one of those piňa colada cocktails the ladies like and an endless stock of fat Cuban cigars. But that guy with the suntan and the chest hair, that guy reclining in a deckchair by the sea? That wasn’t me. “This is my city,” I said. I shook my head, half unable to believe it myself, but as I said it I knew it was true. “Paradise or Purgatory, I know one thing for sure: I’m right where I belong.”

“Thanks,” she whispered, and reached up and kissed me on the cheek. It was over before I knew it was happening and I felt clumsy, like I’d missed it but she was already walking away. “So which house is mine?” she asked, and I shook my head at the absurdity of the question.

It took her a moment to compose herself when we reached it, but she took a deep breath, straightened her skirts and strode on up the path. I stayed where I was, by the garden gate watching, trying not to feel proud of her.

The door was answered by a tall, lean well-to-do type in half-moon spectacles. “Oh, thank God!” he said, scooping her up. She let out a little squeal of delight, and I had to look away from the way she was clinging onto him. It made me feel hot-faced and awkward.

Eventually I cleared my throat, and they parted enough to remember me.

“This is _Casey Boyle._ ” Lorna said, and the way she said my name gave me pause for thought. There was a question in it but the question wasn’t for me. “I woke up at the hospital. I _work_ there. Casey helped me find you.”

The husband nodded slowly, some kind of realization taking place, but I’ll be damned if I ever find out what it was. “My _father_ was a big fan of your work Mr Boyle,” he said meaningfully, more to Lorna than to me.

She made a silent _‘Oh’_ of understanding, and I got the definite impression there was a conversation taking place that I wasn’t party to.

Anyone who knew ‘my work’ must be either well connected in the police, or else someone who dwelt among the type of pondlife that generally stays out of neighborhoods like theirs. I’ll admit I didn’t much relish the idea of Lorna socializing in those circles, but then it wasn’t any of my business, and I didn’t have an answer for him. I tipped my hat to them. “Lorna. Mr Lorna,” I said, and beat a hasty retreat.

“I certainly hope we’ll see you again soon!” the husband called after me, “And thank you!” I didn’t know why I’d been expecting the crazy broad’s old man to be sane; they were clearly a matched set. My best guess was some kind of mutual amnesia, or something truly creepy going on at Mercy Hospital.

That image of them branded itself on my mind’s eye for a week or two; the picture of them standing there together on their doorstep beaming. But then I never did meet a mystery that didn’t tickle my curiosity.

I put a hand up in a kind of backwards wave, remembering my manners there when it was too late. “Soon,” I called back, and turned up the collar of my coat despite the late afternoon heat. 

Lorna’s voice followed me down the street. “Go on back to Mercy and get stitched up!”

I waved again but didn’t look back. There was a half-bottle of the good stuff in my office, and the couch to sleep it off on afterwards. Besides, if I needed a hospital - and I wasn’t planning to - I figured I’d carry this sack of old bones right on down to Cook County General next time. For the sake of variety. 

And hell if Lorna’s perfume hadn’t seeped into my skin.


End file.
